


Run and Hide

by ShutUpandPull



Category: Castle
Genre: Caskett, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 11:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6468943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShutUpandPull/pseuds/ShutUpandPull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the very worst day to be apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run and Hide

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the earlier and one of the shortest pieces of fanfic I wrote, back in January 2013. I don't recall my mindset at the time, but I do recall feeling the need to quickly get the words on paper so I could move on from them. Until today, I hadn't read it since I first published it, and I found it just as difficult.

He wakes before the dawn, before the usual shock of the screeching alarm, before his body has refreshed itself enough for the day ahead. He doesn’t recall drifting off to sleep at all, actually. The tossing and turning – that, he remembers, and the reason why, he wishes desperately to forget. The expanse of the vacant bed at his side seems vast and cold. Even without crossing the invisible line, he can feel it.

She couldn’t be there last night to warm his bed.

He rubs the lack of sleep from his eyes and wills his unsteady legs to carry him to the bathroom. He wants to know if he looks as different as he feels. He sees the same face. He doesn’t understand how it can be. Today is not yesterday. The mirror mocks him. He turns away in bewilderment and moves on to the kitchen.

It’s usually there for him, his morning coffee, earthy and aromatic, prepared with care by her hands. His mug sits cold in the sink now, still holding the remnants of the last time. He longs to return to that day, to drink it all in, to memorize every second. He looks with revulsion at the shiny chrome machine on the counter. He settles for a few sips of plain water, just enough to help clear the lump from his throat, which it doesn’t.

She couldn’t be there this morning to be the sun that begins his day.

He returns to the bathroom with its algid tile and its mocking mirror and steps into the blistering water. His intention is not to shower clothed, which he remembers too late. It’s too late for so many things: this is his solitary thought for the duration of the morning ritual he’d just as soon forgo.

His skin is red and pruned by degree and duration as he stands before the rack of appropriate clothing options. There are too many combinations for his brain to register – no sleep, no coffee. He’s a grown man, a sophisticated man, and he has the power choose. He doesn’t want to. He only wants to know what she would choose. There is nothing appropriate about this day. What an absurd notion.

She couldn’t be there this afternoon to help him look his best.

Alexis and Martha find him at his desk in the office. It’s been hours, so says his watch. He can’t tell them what he’s doing; he doesn’t know. He only knows it’s too late to run and hide. They’ve seen him. If only he’d thought to hide, maybe this wouldn’t be real.

It’s time. The driver has arrived. He’s waiting downstairs. 

Richard Castle wants to wait too, wants to wait for her. It’s too late.                          

She couldn’t be there today to help him survive this.

He has to go. Kate Beckett’s funeral begins in one hour.

 

 

 


End file.
